Whisky, souls, and deals
by HeloisaAngeli
Summary: In this one shot story, focused mostly in a dialogue, Crowley is summoned by an ambitious skeptical scholar and negotiates her soul talking only the truth. (There is no romance in this story)


+1+  
It seemed that that weekend would be a quiet one, it was vacation time at the university, so Feather didn't had anything to do. Even so, she woke up early in the morning, being used to do so. Without any activities planned for the day, she decides to visit the flea market across the town. It was a long time since Feather had last been there and it always offered an opportunity to make some discoveries. Feather had been collecting different editions of M. R. James' works and was cheerful hoping to find a version of "ghost stories of an antiquary" that she didn't own yet.

She decided to go to the flea marketing by walking to use more of her time in doing so. The morning was beautiful, the skies were grey, and it was chilly enough to wear a coat. Feather also grabbed her umbrella, just in case. The slow calm Arvo Pärt's songs that she was listening in her headphones made the leisurely walk to the other side of the town even slower, but more enjoyable.

She was very interested in how the city landscape change from neighbourhood to neighbourhood, near the university the streets were broad, full of trees and green fields; but when she reached the urban centre the roads were narrow, ugly new buildings and decadent old ones were mixed, composing a weird, chaotic landscape. She finally arrived downtown and walking towards the flea market's square noticed for the first time that that neighbourhood was kind rough; some prostitutes were posing discretely under the shadows of a closed commercial gallery and shady young men around some of them. Feather became aware of her expensive headphones, her classy coat, and the cash in her pockets and decided that it would be safer to go back by bus.

But it was a matter for later; her present concern was to find something interesting at the flea market! Feather had a system to explore the market. At first, she just walked around checking what were the goods in each stand, after that she gave more attention to the sellers dealing analogue photo machines, typewriters, LP's, and old objects in general. Then, finally, she checked the stands selling books only.

Unfortunately, after spending half an hour in each of the main used books stands she had found nothing of her interest. There was still a small stand that she hadn't checked yet, it didn't seem promising. The attendant was a goth teenager boy with a big nose full of piercings and greasy black hair. But Feather was already there, and she was frustrated for not find anything worth buying – not even a typewriter! What a crap day.

With a mix of boredom and distaste, she browsed through the books in exposition. Her attention was caught by one with a faded red cover. The book was in a sad state of conservation, it was written by hand in several different hands writes, in Latin – exactly her favourite language, which was also the professorship that she held at the university – and it was illustrated with many drawings and sigils. Apparently, it was a book of spells.

As she held the book in her hands the goth teen said – presumably trying to scare her:

– This book was my friend's. Gerald died after having it for like a fortnight or whatever.

Feather gave him a little smile, and answered:

– Do you guarantee that this Gerald guy died in possession of this book?

– Yeah! - he responded with wild eyes, and completed – he was trying some of the spells and was found burned, black as coal!

Feather was enjoying this silly chat:

– Oh, this is bad indeed. Were you quite found of George?

The goth boy said:

– He was okay, I guess...

Feather said:

– And did you try any of these spells yourself, hum?

He thought for a moment, and answered:

– Oh... Well... If I tell you I will need to kill you.

– We don't want that, do we? – said Feather with a condescending tone.

She was satisfied with this discovery! It wasn't M. R. James. But almost made her feel like a James' ghost story! So she negotiates the price of the book to her advantage and left.

It was already lunchtime, so Feather took a bus heading to a fancy restaurant nearby the university. Once there she leafed through the book while waiting for her meal. Feather could easily read everything, and found many spelling mistakes, the instructions for the spells were also a bit confusing – and very weird! There was one summoning spell that especially caught her attention due to a note, in English, written right beside one of the ingredients. It stated:

"preferably use highland whiskey – Glencraig aged 30 years or more."

She gave a good laugh, thinking with herself "what a snob motherfucker this demon is!" and asked the waiter:

– Hey, do you have Glencraig whisky? Could you get me a bottle to go?

+2+  
Back at the university, with a full stomach and a (not complete) Glencraig bottle under her arm, Feather stooped by at the botany centre and asked for samples of the many herbs required to do the spell. She also took from the art institute: six candles made of pure bee wax, an iron bowl, and a big piece of white chalk – all ingredients necessary to correctly perform the summon.

Feather was a woman of science. Apparently, she didn't believe in the efficacy of the spell. But she had nothing to do, had had more than a few glasses of that excellent whisky. And she could use her spare time to write a new article in the middle 20th-century renascence of pagan rites (considering the book entrances, that began in 1949 and stooped suddenly at 1958, leaving a few blank pages at the book's end).

At the back of her rooms at the university, Feather took some notes and a few pictures of the different ingredients. She mixed everything in the bowl, poured the content of her bottle in a glass – took a sip – and tossed the rest in the pot, then she made a little cut at her wrist, adding drops of blood to the mixture. Finally, Feather lit it all on fire and read the incantations out loud.

Right in front of her appeared a short man in his late forties wearing a fancy suit. Shocked, Feather's only reaction was to take a huge sip of the whiskey bottle, that was still open and at the reach of her hand.

The man stared at her – he seemed a little annoyed and disgusted.

She just starred back, her eyebrows up, her mouth open in a big "O".

The man's eyes caught the sight of the bottle, and he said:

– Can I have some?

Feather, still surprised, answered:

– Oh... Yes, of course! Just let me get a clean glass (which was pointless considering that she had only sipped the bottle) – Still confused she added – Come on in! Come on in...

From her tiny kitchen she took a look at the living room, the man was just sitting there, bearing an unimpressed see in his face. As she poured the Glencraig into a clean glass she thought to herself:

"I'm drunk. That is the plain truth. This man didn't appear from nowhere – I just under such impression because my senses are numbed by the alcohol."

She went in the living room and gave him the glass of whisky, sitting across him. He sipped the drink, still unimpressed. Not knowing how to act Feather tried to make small talk:

– So... Good whisky, han?

– Yes – was the man's cold reply, directly adding – Why did you call me?

– Did I call you? – asked Feather in confusion.

– You summoned me – The man replied.

– Sum... Summoned..? – asked Feather.

– Oh, so it wasn't you? Who summoned me then? – He asked in a cynical tone.

Feather scratched her head, and, with no more patience, said rudely:

– Are you with that grease teen from the market? Are you guys trying to prank me? I'm no fool. Cut the act!

The man huffed and said:

– Now, here is something that I hadn't encountered in a while... – As he said that the whisky bottle floated in the air in the direction of his glass, refilling it with the liquid.

Feather almost passed out so shocked she was. The man laughed a little. When she recovered enough she stated:

– How did you do that?!

Out of patience, the man's response was:

– Oh for fucking sake! I'm Crowley! I RULE HELL!

– Are you a demon?! – asked Feather astonished.

– Of course, I'm a demon! Were you trying to summon what?! A cleric perhaps?! This summons that you performed is a summon for me, specifically! Also, could you stop repeating everything that I state as question?! – he growled.

Feather remained silent. She breathed slowly trying to calm herself and reflected upon her situation. She considered that she wasn't drunk enough to hallucinate, but, perhaps, she had fallen asleep and was having this Jamesian dream about the mysterious book that she just bought.

On the other hand, she didn't feel like a sleeping person... Maybe it was the reality, after all, perhaps there were demons, magic... For all purposes she decided that she would act as if it was all truth: if it was a prank it was so elaborated – the bottle floating in her own house! – If she was dreaming it was just a dream, and if it was all real... Well...

She finally said:

– Ok. Hum... Crowley... Ahn... How can I put it..? Oh, yes! I just bought this book – she said showing him the book – in a flea market, and I'm on vacation... The whole university is... And I... I planned to write an article about the 20th-century paganism renascence, so I performed the summon, and, well... I thought that it was all mumbo-jumbo... it was just funny because required a fancy whisky... And as I said, I'm on vacation...

Cutting Feather's humming Crowley said:

– Look, I'm a busy demon. I'm the king of hell! But, I used to be the king of crossroads. And as I'm here already, and you summoned me we could use this opportunity to our mutual advantage. Tell you what, you were about to write an article, weren't you? For a small price, I can make you write an article that will win you a Nobel prize!

Feather answered:

– But there is no Nobel prize for linguistics.

– Ah! Not yet! You could be the first person to win that one! Hah? What do you say? – said Crowley with a warm smile.

She spoke:

– You mentioned a price... Is this worth..?

– Oh, the price? It is a mere... Nothing ! Something that you don't use anyway... – he added in a whisper – Your soul.

Feather raised an eyebrow, adding:

– I can't sell you, my soul! No...

Crowley quickly questioned her:

– Why not?

– Well, I don't want to go to hell when I die... – she said unsurely.

– You don't want to go to hell, eh? But what guarantees do you have that you are going to heaven, hum? Have you been doing charity work recently? No! You are here, sitting your ass in this expensive furniture and performing summons! – replied Crowley.

Feather took a moment before timidly answer:

– I'm a good person...

Crowley directly replied:

– Oh! But going to heaven is not about being a good person! It is about rules! Rules that you broke already! Aren't you drinking whisky? You don't need to drink it. You do it for pure pleasure. Isn't this gluttony?! A deadly sin?!

She remained silent, confused, considering all that he stated. After a moment Crowley added:

– You are probably going to hell anyway! If you sell me your soul, you will at least get something nice for you, while you are alive... And you will have ten years to enjoy it too! No tricks!

At this point, Feather burst out of her thoughts and abruptly asked:

– Ten years?!

– Yes! – said Crowley – Full TEN YEARS! – No tricks! – he repeated.

The expression of Feather's face showed that she considered that ridiculous, and she said:

– Ten years?! Hunf... I'm may not be young, but, if nature runs its course, I have at least some twenty years ahead of me! If hell indeed is real, and as you said I'm probably going there anyway, is in my best interest to avoid the moment of my death as long as I can.

Crowley looked to her annoyed, and said under his breath:

– Maybe nature will not run its course; perhaps you will die very soon. Today even.

Feather didn't listen to that – or choose to ignore, and continued:

– Besides, I can very well write an article on my own! I have written many! And I'm no Nobel prize researcher, but I thoroughly know in my field. On top of everything if I was already damned as you claim there would be no point in try to buy my soul.

Crowley was very annoyed. He took pride in his negotiation skills, and could very well kill the woman in the spot like he had done to a young man, just a few weeks ago in this same town – furthermore, her soul would probably end up in hell (most of them do). But she was bright, and he was interested in the challenge. Usually, people would summon him for an apparent reason, primarily when the matter was a deal, and this woman though had summoned him almost by accident.

Besides, despite what he stated earlier, he wasn't busy at all. The truth was that things in hell were running as smooth as they could... Every problem that he could solve was solved, and the ones that he couldn't, well, he couldn't. It was while ago since he had last closed a deal; he was interested in test how sharp his skills were, how long it would take to seal this one.

Considering all that he said:

– Alright, you caught me. You not necessarily damned. Even so, heaven is overrated! I mean, I have not been there myself, but I have reliable information about what goes on in there, and trust me: it is not worth.

Feather open her mouth in a cynical smile as she said:

– Oh really? Is Heaven overrated? Crowley, as far as I know, you will say anything to me to convince me to sell my soul.

Crowley took a moment to reflect. Then he requested:

– Let me get a look at this book of yours, would you?

After leafing through it a little he pointed:

– Ha! There is a spell here that can turn regular water into a potion of truth. And it is pretty simple... Perform it, and you will know that I'm telling the truth. However, you must drink it as well.

The spell consisted purely into recite a chant, which Feather could easily do being fluent in Latin. So she fetched a jar of water and performed it. Then, they added a little of this liquid to the whisky in their glasses, and both took a big sip of the mixture.

As soon as they had done it, Crowley asked:

– Will you sell me your soul?

And unable to control herself Feather promptly answered:

– Maybe I will.

Crowley smiled a wild smile. But before he could say anything else Feather asked:

– So, how is heaven overrated?

Now, Crowley knew a lot of magic, and what he intentionally had not pointed out to Feather was that there were no guarantees of her ability to turn the water efficiently, nor there was a specification in what sort of creature the potion would work. He presumed that it would work in humans only (if it worked at all). So he was dazed with surprise when the answer came out of his mouth promptly as well:

– As a scholar, you must be familiarised with Robert Nozick's "Experience Machine". Heaven is pretty much like that. Every single soul stays in her or his Paradise – with everything that she or he likes. However, they can't meet another person!

Feather seemed interested, and straightening her back as she said:

– Is that so? Tell me more, please.

Again Crowley was unable to restrain himself:

– Yes, it is. You see, most of us demons were once humans, hell merely corrupted us. Angels, on the contrary, are entirely different creatures. They are the ones who manage heaven. And they are unable to perceive the complexity of human desires. They can't even imagine how the things that one likes can slowly sour and become painfully dull as the days add up to all eternity.

He paused and finished his drink, trying to gain a little more time and reflecting on how more laborious it would now be to win the woman's soul. Then he continued:

– Neither they can understand why people wish to meet despite the disagreements and disappointment that may arise between them. So, you see, heaven may even be worst than hell... Imagine to experiencing all the things that you love to the exhaustion until you can't draw any more pleasure from it, and you find yourself all alone, with no one to share this unbearable boredom, forever.

The more he talked more it seemed that the truth could be very compelling after all, so he added:

– At least in hell one can hold up to the memory of pleasure. These memories of happiness will become gradually more pleasant as one endures torture and pain... And, when they fade away, one is already corrupted and finds a sadistic pleasure in exist as a demon.

Crowley took advantage of Feather's silent astonishment and asked:

– So, as you see, there is nothing for you in Heaven anyway. What is your heart's desire?

Angrily but readily she answered:

– Knowledge.

No one is incorruptible after all; ambition is the human nature. Smiling with the satisfaction, he said:

– I can readily grant you knowledge of many things. All the languages ever were spoken? Done! Tell you what, as I like our little chat I will even add a few years to the usual ten, have it double yet, didn't you stated that you have about twenty good years to live?

Feather was astonished by all that she had heard. Crowley was very persuasive... And she didn't even need the potion to see that he was telling the truth. It was clear to her that he knew those things in first hand, having experienced them – well, not heaven, but at least the whole soul corruption thing. An idea arose in her mind, and she declared:

– I will be honest; I have no choice in that after all – she gave a little laugh – what you propose is very tempting. And, if we had met a couple of years ago we would probably close this deal now. Especially with all the considerations that you have done... You are right! Heaven does seem awful!

As she paused reticently, he said:

– It does, right? Look, I can add a few things up to this deal as the plus. Tell me what else you want! Maybe even more knowledge? I can offer you that!

Feather smiled as she said:

– Yes... But, you see, as I said, If we met a few years ago...

At this point, she took a breath, but Crowley didn't interrupt her, then she continued her speech, speaking with confidence:

– Now that I'm in my mature years, I see that knowledge – truth knowledge – can't come second handed. I wasted all my life poring over books, studying, trying to impress others with my scholarship. But, these things don't matter! So, as you see, the problem here is how to acquire first-hand knowledge... The only experience can offer it.

Crowley raised an eyebrow and contracted his lips, he understood what she meant and said:

– You are asking for much. I could grant you immortality. Yes, I'm that powerful! But what you will give me in return, hum? If you genuinely never die how you will pay me with your soul?

Feather, her eyes wild with ambition, directly asked:

– Can I pay you with someone else's soul?

Crowley laughed with disbelief and said:

– Someone else's soul? You are an awful human being!

Feather stated:

– Cut the false morality, would you? Maybe I am awful, but I still have a chance of redemption, so if you don't seal the de...

She couldn't complete her sentence as Crowley snapped:

– REDEMPTION?! We aren't talking for thirty minutes, and you are already offering me to take the job of a demon just to save your ass and grant your selfish wishes! Redemption, HA! Oh no... That shipped has sailed! You are way past recovery.

Feather's face became white with fear, as the potion not only prevented one from telling a lie, but compelled not to dissimulate the truth, she said out loud what was secretly passing through her head:

– But you still want to buy my soul, right?

Crowley couldn't believe what was passing there. This woman looked perfectly harmless, but she was probably the most wicked person he had ever deal. And that was what he stated:

– You are probably the most immoral person I've ever deal! You are surely damned. Even so, I still want to make a deal, but just because I'm too proud to let it go unclosed.

That did hurt Feather's own pride a little, from another perspective it filled it... She was the most wicked of, how many? She then asked curiously:

– How many deals did you make?

Crowley answered:

– Oh, numberless! I've been dealing for almost three hundred years! I've started as soon as my body was cold – he adds as making little of it.

She said joyfully:

– Three hundred years?! You are an ocular witness to history!

But Crowley stated, smiling mysteriously:

– Oh, don't even start! All I will say to you is that this is the best time of the past centuries to live in!

She added:

– Nevertheless... I would love to witness history!

Crowley remained silent, but he looked to his left side and nodded reluctantly.

She smiled. Feather realised that she was inflating his ego, maybe she had a chance after all. Furthermore, she was starting to perceive the extension of his power. Earlier he stated that could grant her immortality; now he suggested that could take her back in time.

So she said, still smiling:

– But you will at least tell me about these deals, will you not? Nobody ever asked you for immortality? I mean, it seems a pretty reasonable wish, especially considering all that you told me about the afterlife...

Crowley said a bit reluctantly:

– Hum... As I explained, this wish goes against the inner structure of the deal. Besides people are not very smart. And, when making a deal, they usually tend to concentrate more in the present.

– So, no one? – insisted Feather.

Crowley answered unpleased:

– There was this one guy... He was a lot like you. A scholar, an Oxford fellow to be precise. Very wicked and ambitious too. He made precisely the sort of deal that you were trying to negotiate, the soul of someone else. Except that our contract was one soul every ten years, and, eventually, he couldn't manage it.

She asked reluctantly:

– What do you mean? Why he failed in to bring you a soul? Ten years is a lot of time...

– Oh, you know, the usual foolishness. He became overwhelmed with the guilty, tried to redeem himself with good deeds, and didn't collected the soul – Crowley answered condescendingly.

Feather was interested in it; she could bear the risk of overwhelming guilt. So she asked:

– Could you make the same deal for me?

Crowley smiled meanly:

– Oh, would you be able to pay for such deal?

– Of course, I will! Seems pretty straightforward to sacrifice a baby every ten years or so... – Feather answered.

– Ha! But it isn't! You see, you can't just sacrifice a baby. You must take the souls of people who are willing to sell them – said Crowley.

Feather stated without much confidence:

– I think I can do that. Are ten years after all...

He laughed, and then replied:

– If you fail I will send hellhounds after your soul; you won't scape... And I can't say I will be sorry. I will be overwhelmed with pleasure!

She didn't answer. Instead, Feather looked right into his eyes. Crowley stared back at her, still bearing a happy expression with the thought of she being torn apart by the hounds... They kept staring at each other for almost a minute. Finally, Feather broke the silence:

– How far could you take me back in time? You could do that, and then claim my soul ten years from now?

Crowley laughed bitterly, then said:

– Far enough! But I won't do that. It is too much trouble for a soul that is already damned.

She gasped discontent. And he added:

– You could drink a little more of that potion, woman. You may still be unable to lie... But now you can dissimulate. I'm not naive, though. I can read you easily. And I assure you that this little scheme forming into your head would fail. You think you can trick me into send you back in time and then get rid of me before we seal the deal before we meet.

He then made something that surprised Feather; Crowley poured himself half a glass of the potion, drank it all at once, and declared:

– You can't trick me.

Feather didn't know what to do. She was not even sure what she felt at that moment. She was scared that Crowley had discovered her plan, she was frustrated, she felt stupid and artless... She was angry and annoyed, and embarrassed!

He stared at her for a few moments; it felt like he could see through her – because he could.

Finally, he said:

– The best deal I can offer you is a compelling book of spells in exchange for one soul, of a person willing to sell it, of course. You could turn pure water into a potent potion of truth; this means that you have the gift of magic. Develop this talent, and you will acquire potential immortality on your own. You can even try to travel back to pass for all that I care – but you won't mess with me.

Crowley looked at her in a way that made her fell the raw truth of this declaration. Then he added:

– Also, this deal will be closed when you deliver the soul, so your safety is guaranteed. If you fail to do it, the agreement only will remain open.

Feather was forgetting about her uneasiness; she was interested in his proposal.

– How do I take the soul to you? – asked her.

– Oh, you don't need to take the soul. Just close the deal – Was Crowley's answer.

Feather asked still a bit confused:

– Ok... So all I need is to compel someone to say "I sell my soul to you"?

Crowley smiled as he answered:

– Not quite... There is this... A symbolic gesture, necessary to officially seal the deal.

– A symbolic gesture, hum? – asked Feather with a cynical expression on her face.

+3+  
A week had passed since she encountered Crowley. After that day Feather had done the potion of truth many times with fantastic results. First, she made a student admit that he had been dealing pot for months, then she made a professor acknowledge to her that he had plagiarised an article year ago. Finally, Feather directly applied the spell to a drinking fountain in the hallway just for fun.

She also explored the red book and found many exciting spells that were efficiently performed. But they were all simple things. Useful, yes, but simple, nothing like immortality or time travel... If weren't for the efficacy of these spells she would doubt her sanity. Nevertheless, everything that she tried worked surprisingly well!

She was eagerly looking for a soul, longing for the deal to be closed, yearning for the book of spells that Crowley had offered in exchange. However, this task was proven to be more difficult than it looked at first. How could she even approach someone with such a proposal?

With these thoughts in her mind Feather again walked to the flea market. Once there she browsed through the stands without much attention, until she was taken away from her reflections when she heard a tuneless voice saying:

– Good to see you alive and well, Granny!

It was the greasy teenager that sold her the red book. She stared blankly at him for a moment. Then the realisation hit her: she could buy his soul.

– Thank you. I'm well – said Feather without thinking much about what to answer.

The boy laughed and said:

– A shame that we don't have any other bizarre books to sell you, hum?

She nervously answered:

– Oh, hum. Yes. That one was fascinating. I end up summoning a demon... I learned a lot.

He laughed crazily, uncontrollably, blurring the eyeliner after scrub his eyes. Feather was annoyed by his attitude. However, she considered how to profit from it. She continued:

– If you sell me your soul, I could do something sweet for you...

Now he laughed even harder; Feather starts to worry that he would collapse – or worst, that nothing would come out of it. But she had gone too far to back away now, so she patiently waits a minute after minute for the boy to calm himself. Finally, he said, still laughing a little:

– You sound like the world oldest whore. What nice thing could you possibly do for me?

Feather said sounding more surely than she was:

– Oh, I could make you a rich man, I could make you famous... I could give you the ability to play the guitar!

The teenager answered, with a laugh lingering on his lips:

– Look granny; you sound like a crazy lady. My buddy Gerald did die in possession of that book that you bought last week. But he was a junkie, you know? He was always high on the heavy stuff. I was just messing with you, telling that the book was compelling and all that... If it were I wouldn't sell it, would I? I'm not stupid! It was just a book, got it?

Feather promptly asked:

– So you are sceptical?

The boy became serious and said:

– You could say so, yes.

Feather continued:

– In this case, you will only profit selling me your soul! As it is something that doesn't even exist, right? After all, you are not stupid, are you? I will pay you with something concrete. How about a pack of cigarettes?

The boy shrugged, answering:

– Ok, sure.

– Then it is a deal. Let's seal with a kiss! – Feather said in a sassy way.

Again the boy laughed, answering:

– Oh, it will take more than a pack of cigarettes for me to kiss you.

– Fine, plus two hundred bucks – Feather promptly stated open her wallet.

– Ok then – said the boy.

– Just to be clear, you are selling me your soul for two hundred bucks and a pack of cigarettes, we seal this deal with a kiss – Feather again stated very seriously, and the goth boy nodded.

They kissed awkwardly and briefly. Feather gave him the cigarettes and the money and left in a hurry.

As she walked back to the university (Feather was no longer afraid), she wondered about what would happen now. Would Crowley show up? Or was he messing with her by saying that she had to kiss to buy a soul? The fact that the boy was sceptical was a problem? He could give up his soul willingly without believing in its existence, couldn't he? Or had she just lost two hundred bucks?!

All these passed through her head. But these flow of thoughts stopped as soon as Feather entered her rooms. Crowley was standing there. He stared, a strange look in his eyes. An unreadable look. She had no time for it, and asked at once:

– SO? The book?

– As you know, there is that little symbolic.

Feather didn't even let him finish, she just grabbed him by the shoulders and bitterly kissed his mouth, whipping her mouth at the back of her hand after this.

Crowley stared with a surprise for a moment. Then he handed her a package.

Feather eagerly opened it; she found herself holding a black book. It didn't look like much, however, after briefly leafing through the pages she had the certainty that Crowley had kept his word, doing his part of the deal.

He quietly asked:

– Do you feel no remorse?

– Remorse? – asked her confused.

– You know, for the boy – clarified Crowley.

– Is it matter that he is sceptical? – Feather asked worriedly.

– No. He sold his soul willingly; you even spelt out the terms once more before closing the deal. – Crowley answered.

– Yes, I did – She said smiling, proud of her ability.

After a moment Crowley repeated:

– So, no remorse?

– No! He called me "granny" – Feather declared angrily.

Crowley insisted though:

– Really? Nothing? Not even a little? You feel no remorse at all?

Feather coolly answer:

– I feel no remorse.


End file.
